


Growing Together

by pennysparrow



Series: Flower Shop AU [4]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, Mild Language, Minor Jack Kelly/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Minor Sarah Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Modern Era, that's what the teen rating is for- the cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 19:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14456133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennysparrow/pseuds/pennysparrow
Summary: Growing up Racetrack's family always brought their loved ones flowers home on a Friday, so that's just what he does too.Can be read as a stand-alone.





	Growing Together

**Author's Note:**

> So I started writing this cause I wanted to look at what some of the others characters in my flower shop au were doing and explore how they all met in college a bit. Also I wanted to try my hand at writing some Sprace. Makes more sense if you read Paper Petals but can definitely be read by itself.

Race had met Spot on their very first day of classes. They were sitting next to each other as the professor had them all go around the room to say their name and why they were in the introductory engineering class. Race had smiled and said that he was good with numbers and wanted to help people which meant he could either be an accountant or an engineer and he’d much rather be creating things than filing taxes.

That had earned him some laughs from the other kids in the class and a chuckle from his professor. The surly looking kid next to him just rolled his eyes and took his turn. “Sean Conlon and I’m here because I’m looking to get into set design.” The look he gave the class said that anyone who might have a problem with that would be getting a trip to the hospital.

Their professor responded with something like “Neat” before moving on. At the end of the class Race turned to the boy as they were packing up their books. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a theater kid.”

“Well how’d you know what a theater kid looks like?” Spot had fired back, hefting his backpack onto his shoulder.

“Seeing as how I spent all my free time in high school voluntarily wedged into the lights and sound booth I think I have a pretty good idea,” Race laughed.

Spot smirked in reply, pausing to walk with Race out of the classroom. “Sean Conlon,” he said and extended his hand.

“Antonio Higgins, but my friends all call me Racetrack.” He shook the other boy’s hand.

“Racetrack? What kind of nickname is that?”

“I told ya I’m good with numbers and people call me Racetrack on purpose, I think you can figure out why.”

Spot laughed at that, a short bark of a sound. “In that case, call me Spot.”

Race quirked an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Spot?”

“Yeah, no. Not explaining,” Spot responded, the corners of his lips twitching up in what looked like the beginning of a genuine smile. Race just laughed and shook his head before they parted ways for their next classes.

That first week of classes Race saw Spot twice more for their intro course and they continued to sit next to each other. By Friday they had exchanged phone numbers in case either had questions about the homework over the weekend. Although homework was the farthest thing from Race’s mind on Friday. He had befriended the boys in the room across the hall, a pair of outgoing brothers, and he and his roommate Albert had been invited to the movie night they were hosting. The only one with a car on campus out of the four of them – the only one to have a car at all – Race had been asked to make the snack run with Jack.

They’d come back to find the small dorm room relatively full already. Race smiled at Crutchie as he patiently explained to Albert why he didn’t go by Charlie, instead choosing to reclaim a taunt from bullies. Jack was emptying the bags in Race’s hands onto his desk, opening up bags of chips and packs or oreos as he did so. Race had been so distracted by Jack’s meticulousness that he hadn’t noticed who the other people Jack and Crutchie had invited were. Which is why he was surprised to hear a gruff voice say, “Racetrack?”

He turned and found himself face to face with Spot Conlon. “Hey! What’re you doing here?”

“I might be too cool for my brothers but I’m not going to turn down Jack buying me food,” Spot raised an eyebrow and Race felt himself grinning.

The rest of the night was fun. Spot had brought his roommate Darcy and Darcy’s friend from home Katherine. They all had fun watching 80’s movies and swapping stories about who they were and where they were from. Race learned that Crutchie, Jack, and Spot had a younger sister nicknamed Smalls and that their foster mom owned an off-Broadway theater. That was what made Spot want to go into set building and he and Jack intended to one day own a set design company of their own.

Race convinced them to play poker at some point in the night and the only person who even slightly held their own against him was Katherine. Though Spot called for a rematch that turned into a weekly poker night that Race is pretty sure is what solidified their friendship. The weekly Sunday morning frisbee games definitely helped too.

By the time they were in their junior year Race and Spot were inseparable. They’d signed the lease on a crappy apartment just off campus for the year and the first week of classes they were the ones hosting their friends on Friday night. Except instead of oreos and chips Jack was setting up beer and vodka. Their friend group had also expanded, filling the small space with people and noise.

At some point in the night someone, Race swore it was a very drunk Finch, suggested they all play spin the bottle. Specs held out his half-empty bottle of beer and Kath grabbed it out of his hand. Downing it she slammed the bottle onto the scarred coffee table that Spot had salvaged from Medda’s basement filled with old props before flopping into Jack’s lap. Crutchie had slipped out of the circle and he and Albert were starting a card game a little way away from them on the floor while more people joined in the circle.

Unlike most of his friends in high school, Race never had any problem playing spin the bottle. The other boys always got squeamish when it landed on someone other than one of the girls. He’d never really thought too much about it until he got to college and met Jack and Crutchie who introduced him to the LGBTQIA+ community. At this point the only member of their friend group who wasn’t a part of it was Finch, who’d been friends with Crutchie since high school and happily took the title of Token Straight Friend.

It was almost inevitable at this point in the night that they would play spin the bottle and as the host, and the least intoxicated, Race got to go first. Race grabbed the bottle and laid it on its side; he glanced over at Spot sitting next to him. Spot flicked his eyebrows up once before taking a sip of his rum and coke. With a flick of his wrist Race sent the glass bottle twirling, rotating rapidly before slowing and finally coming to a stop. The top of the bottle was pointing directly at Spot. In all the times they’d played this game not once before had Spot or Race spun the bottle and had it land on the other.

Race looked at Spot with wide eyes, he was comfortably tipsy and didn’t see a problem with kissing his undeniably attractive best friend. That didn’t mean that Spot felt the same though and Race wanted to give him the out. Spot quirked his eyebrows. Their friends were cheering for them to kiss so with a shrug Race leaned in. They pressed their lips together in a chaste peck before pulling away. Jack started booing them and soon everyone else was joining in. Spot shrugged and grabbed at Race, pulling him in and starting to messily make out with him. At first Race was surprised but soon he was kissing Spot back and next thing he knew he was straddling Spot’s lap, winding his fingers through his best friend’s hair.

Someone coughed, and Race and Spot pulled apart. Race had returned to his seat and cleared his throat; there was a blush rising up from his neck to his ears and he was scratching at the back of his head. Next to him Spot laughed awkwardly, and someone grabbed the bottle to continue the game.

After everyone had either passed out on their floor or gone home Spot was cleaning up red solo cups and Race was collecting beer bottles. They met in the kitchen and looked out over their messy, friend-filled apartment together. Spot nudged Race in the side with his elbow. “Can I help you?” Race asked dryly.

“Nah. No help needed.” Spot smirked as Race rolled his eyes. “I was curious though…”

“Yeah?” Race was wary now that he was significantly more sober than during spin the bottle.

“That kiss. It didn’t make things between us weird right?” Spot’s voice had gotten softer and Race was tempted to say that he was acting timid.

“Nothing weird,” Race said quickly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“But, uh, it was a good kiss. Right? Like it definitely didn’t suck, right?” Now Race knew that Spot was acting timid and just a tad nervous.

“No? Why would you think that? Honestly man, it was one of the best kisses I ever had,” Race said to his shoes, unable to look Spot in the eye.

“Oh,” Spot said softly, “me too.”

Race’s lips were pulling up into an involuntary smile. “Really?”

Spot’s hand brushed against Race’s where it rested on the chipped countertop. “I, uh, wouldn’t exactly be opposed to doing it again?” He was muttering but Race understood Spot clearly.

He quickly flipped his hand over and linked his fingers with Spot’s. They didn’t say anything to each other about it the rest of the night. Instead exchanging light touches and purposefully bumping into each other as they moved around the apartment cleaning up after their drunk friends. Eventually they fell into a heap on Spot’s bed together, happily falling asleep in each other’s arms.

The next morning came and Race woke up snuggled against Spot. He smiled happily before rolling out of bed to kick out any stragglers. Luckily the smattering of people leftover from the party had already vacated the apartment in search of breakfast and hangover cures. Race jumped slightly as a pair of arms wrapped around his waist.

“I love having a reputation for being scary as fuck. Means I don’t have to bother with telling people to get the hell out of my house, they just leave,” Spot mumbled into Race’s back and Race laughed in response. They went about the rest of their day as normal, with the exception of the occasional study break to make out, never actually talking about what had changed in their relationship.

The week started and still Race and Spot hadn’t defined what they were to each other. But over the next couple days Race found that he was waking up in Spot’s bed, the two cuddled tight together. Their texts, which had always been teasing and sarcastic, now took on a flirty tone. Race had never thought of it before but now he couldn’t deny the fact that if there was one person who he might find himself in love with it was Spot.

So, the following Friday Race made his way into the heart of Manhattan before heading back to the apartment after class. Growing up his father had always come home with flowers for his mom on a Friday, every week like clockwork. He noticed that his grandfather did the same for his grandmother. When Race asked them why they said that it was because they loved them. Now Race had someone he loved and wanted to give flowers to on a Friday afternoon, even if he hadn’t realized he was in love with that person until a fateful game of spin the bottle.

He’d been to the shop before, although the last time was the day of his senior prom to pick up his date’s corsage. Race had to park a little ways down the block but he was nervous and the short walk in the slight drizzle cleared his head. A bell tinkled when he pushed the door open and a girl about his age poked her head out from where she stood in the glass-front cooler.

“Can I help you?” she called from over the hum of the cooler’s motor and rush of it’s refrigeration system.

Race jammed his hands deeper into his jeans’ pockets and stepped up to the counter the register sat on. “Uh, yeah, please?”

She stepped out of the cooler, a bucket of carnations in her arms, and let the door fall closed behind her. “Can you give me one second and I’ll be right with you.” Her voice was cheery and confident, and Race felt himself relaxing slightly.

Nodding, Race turned to examine the shop’s displays as he waited. He was smiling at a Halloween wreath decked out in black feathers and purple silks when the girl returned.

“Ok, what can I do for you?” She slipped her hands into the pockets of her apron as she smiled.

“So, my dad and grandpa come here every week to pick up flowers and I just got a boyfriend and want to do the same? Well I think he’s my boyfriend. We live together, but we were doing that before we started giving each other hickeys,” Race frowned, trailing off has he rubbed self-consciously at the bruise Spot had left on his collarbone.

“There’s a lot going on in that statement and I don’t think I’m qualified to help with any of it. I want to be a botanist, not a psychiatrist,” her eyebrows were raised but her tone was good-natured.

Race felt his face flush with embarrassment. “Ohmygod, I’m so sorry. Sometimes I just start talking and I can’t stop and I had no right to dump all that on you and crap I don’t even know your name.”

“Slow down,” she chuckled, “you sound like my brother which in this case isn’t necessarily a good thing. Kids didn’t call him ‘Walking Mouth’ just cause he was captain of the debate team. I’m Sarah.”

“Antonio, but you can just call me Tony.”

“You’re one of the Higgins kids!” She said happily, eyes lighting up in recognition.

“That’s me,” Race shrugged.

“Your family talks about you all the time. They’re so proud. It’s really cute.”

Race shuffled his feet and laughed a little awkwardly. “Jeez. Don’t believe everything they say. I’m much cooler.”

“Seeing as how you want to buy your definitely roommate, maybe boyfriend flowers then I’d say you are.”

“Also best friend. He’s one of my best friends.”

Sarah raised her eyebrows but true to her word about not being a psychiatrist didn’t say anything about that new piece of information. “Ok, well what do you have in mind? An arrangement? Bouquet?”

“Um, we don’t have any vases, so I guess an arrangement?”

Sarah nodded and grabbed an order sheet from under the counter and began filling it out. “And you’re willing to wait a few while it’s made now?”

“If that’s possible? I kinda wanted to work this out in person rather than over the phone,” Race admitted.

“That’s totally doable. Now, what were you thinking? Roses?”

“No! Not roses. Uh, at least not yet.”

Sarah nodded and scribbled on the sheet. “How about a simple wildflower arrangement in a mason jar? Bright, colorful and not overly feminine or romantic?”

Race smiled, it was like Sarah read his mind. Or was very good at her job which was the likelier option. “That sounds great. Do you have sunflowers? Can you put sunflowers in it? I may have gotten an idea for a grand, and very corny, gesture that would work better with a sun related pun.”

Sarah’s grin was a little too excited and her responding yes a little too eager. About fifteen minutes later Race left the shop carrying the arrangement that had been securely boxed up and wrapped in plastic for travel. He had to smile though because Sarah had made sure to point out the sunflower she had included as she wrapped it for him.

Spot said he was at a meeting with the theater department for the semester’s upcoming shows that he would be working on so Race was able to get the packaging off and stick the little card of care instructions on the fridge before the other boy saw. He placed the arrangement on the coffee table, right in Spot’s view when he opened the door, and went about settling himself on the couch to look like he was studying.

Race was nervous, but the nerves just intensified when he heard the telltale jingle of Spot’s keys at the door. He held his breath as the door swung open and Spot walked in.

Spot froze in the doorway, Race could see his eyebrows drawing together out of the corner of his eye. Race was pretending to be reading his anatomy book and his breath had gotten stuck somewhere between his nose and lungs as he waited to see what Spot would do. The other boy let the door fall closed behind him and stepped up to the coffee table, his eyes never leaving the flowers there.

“What’s this?” Spot asked and jerked his chin at the arrangement.

“Flowers?” Race closed the textbook and swung his legs around so they rested on the floor rather than being tucked up under himself. This way he could bounce his leg in an attempt to dispel the ever-growing nervous energy.

Spot dryly raised a single eyebrow, an expression that after two years of trying Race was still unable to copy. “I can see that Racetrack. What’re they doing sitting there?”

“Well I bought them. For you,” Race bit his lip as he waited for Spot to react. After a few seconds he decided to just bite the bullet and power through his explanation. “See, I realized something the other night and I think you might have too? And, well let’s be brutally honest, we both suck ass at talking about our feelings so I thought maybe I could show mine instead? See my family taught me that flowers are a way to show someone you love them and so that’s what I’m trying to do. I got you sunflowers in there cause you’re my sunshine.”

Spot didn’t move, his gaze shifting from the flowers to Race and back again over and over. Race tried to smile and made a lame attempt at finger guns. Spot finally snorted, making his way towards the couch. He let his backpack fall from his shoulder to land on the cushions next to Race.

Spot opened it and pulled out a Hershey’s chocolate bar, the kind that was a solid pound and you could only get by braving Times Square and Chocolate World and paying twenty dollars for. He settled it into Race’s lap with a smile. “Your family did flowers, Medda always went with chocolate.”

“You’re a sap,” Race said as he grinned, pushing textbooks and the ridiculously oversized bar of chocolate onto the floor.

Spot shoved his backpack off the couch before settling next to Race. “You’re one to talk. You bought me flowers, used the worst joke I’ve ever heard, and then did finger guns.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“Gladly.”

Next Friday Race showed up at Petal Peddlers again, he was grinning as he walked in the door and over to the counter. Sarah came out from the back room and smiled back at him. “Tony! You’re back! I take it things went well with the best friend, definitely roommate, possible boyfriend?”

Race laughed, blushing at how he’d described Spot to her. “Yeah, turns out we both had the same idea of a romantic gesture. He got me chocolate.”

“That’s adorable.”

“Yeah, ‘cept he’s a little shit and it was one of those giant-ass Hershey bars like the one Ron walks out with in a Very Potter Musical.”

Sarah snorted, trying and failing to regain her professional composure. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s pretty great. Though the damn thing is gonna last through Christmas.”

“Well I’m glad things worked out for you two! Did you come in to pick something up or…?” She trailed off.

“I’d kinda like to keep up the family tradition? And he won’t admit it, but Sean really liked ‘em. I could tell.”

“Ok, awesome,” Sarah grinned. “So, you want another of the same then?”

“Well we still have the flowers from last week and they’re still fresh and I don’t want him to think that I’m unimaginative, he also called my joke dumb, so I was wondering if I could just get some sunflowers and a vase?”

Sarah raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re quite the pair.”

Race let out a short laugh. “Yeah, we are. I think dating is just going to make us more annoyingly petty to each other.” Sarah shook her head but put together the sunflowers for him, outlining how to take care of them as she wrapped them up.

Over the next few weeks their friends started to realize that Spot and Race were dating, the constant public displays of affection when they were all hanging out really helped. Although no one knew that every Friday Race came home with fresh flowers for his boyfriend. Normally the bouquets that Race had taken to picking up would last two weeks and they had the two vases, so Spot had decided to keep one in each of their rooms, which helped keep the romantic habit from their friends.

The first time that anyone outside of the Petal Peddlers staff and the Jacobs family knew Race was giving his boyfriend flowers wasn’t until they were all out of college. Sarah had moved on to grad school – and was in her final year there according to her mother – so Race was met with her twin brother David when he walked into the shop to pick up the order. He’d wanted to go with roses for such a momentous occasion, but Race was nothing if not a tease to his boyfriend so he was picking up a spectacular bouquet of sunflowers.

“It’s not a Friday,” David informed him when he walked in, a sarcastic tilt to his smile.

“No shit Sherlock,” Race shot back. The two boys had the same easy teasing that Race had built up with Sarah when he first started coming to the shop.

“So what’s the occasion?” David asked as he headed towards the cooler to pull the order.

“Opening night,” Race called after him. David gave him a curious look as he walked back to the counter. Race smiled proudly before explaining. “Spot and his brother were asked to do the set for this new musical right out of college. It’s been running off-Broadway for a while now and tonight- tonight, Davey-boy, it’s officially opening on Broadway.”

David blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I’m going to it with him and everything. Got a suit, there’s going to be all sorts of press and celebrities, we’ll be living like kings. All cause my boyfriend and his idiot brother – who I happen to count as one of my best friends and is not to be confused with his badass brother who I also count as one of my best friends – built the set for it.”

“Look out world, you’re the king of New York,” David teased with a laugh. He rung up the flowers as he shook his head. “I cannot believe you’re actually going to opening night. Or that you’re dating a Broadway set designer.”

“The two of them design a lotta sets, this is the first one that’s actually made it big.”

“Still,” David shrugged. “I grew up a theater kid, this is cool for me.”

“Honestly? Me too,” Race admitted as he tried to contain his excited smile.

He had become friends with the stage manager through Spot and Jack and convinced her to help him hide the bouquet backstage until after the show was over, that way he could surprise Spot. After everyone took their final bows and the audience was still clapping and screaming despite the curtain closing and house lights flickering on, Race slipped backstage. He grabbed the flowers from where they had been hidden amongst the props and rushed back out to the lobby. Spot had spent the whole show seated next to him, only leaving to join the rest of the creative team onstage for bows, and he would be looking for Race to go to the after-party. Race was anxiously watching for him, knowing the shocked look on Spot’s face was going to be priceless.

Crutchie, Kath, and Smalls all saw him through the crowd and moved to stand next to him. “Medda cornered them before they could even make it halfway up the aisle, this could be a minute,” Smalls said with a good-natured eye-roll.

“Where’d those come from?” Crutchie nodded to the bouquet in Race’s arms.

“Oz,” Race replied with a smirk.

Katherine shot him an annoyed look. “That’s poppies and you know it.”

Race just stuck his tongue out at her and they all refocused their attention on the doors leading into the theater from which they could hear Medda gushing over how proud she was of her sons.

Jack came out first, he was blushing from his mom’s compliments and rubbing the back of his neck. He caught sight of the four of them and smiled, immediately making his way through the thinning crowd. Medda followed, still singing her praises of the show and Jack and Spot’s hard work. Spot came last, trailing after her and shaking his head with a goofy grin on his face, though Race would never tell him that.

Spot hadn’t noticed the flowers as the three got closer, until suddenly it was very obvious that he did. He had frozen, still halfway across the lobby, and locked eyes with Race. Spot shook his head and rolled his eyes but his face split into a warm smile.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he mumbled before rushing to grab Race in a hug. “You little shit. Sunflowers? Did you pull these outta your ass or something?”

“Are ya surprised?” Race waggled his eyebrows. He knew that he was being cocky, but he had just successfully surprised his boyfriend on one of the biggest nights of said boyfriend’s career; Race had earned the right to be cocky.

“Of course, I’m surprised. And I love them, even if I hate that joke.” Spot moved to kiss him, but Race was laughing too hard and Spot ended up catching Race on his jaw. Around them their friends and family cooed and laughed. Race passed Spot his sunflowers and Medda demanded pictures. They’d be teased about it later, but Race wouldn’t have done it any differently.

On the first Friday Racetrack went to pick up his flowers after meddling in his friends’ love lives he was nervous. Not that he’d ever admit that, because admitting he was nervous meant admitting that Sarah scared him and while she did Race was not willing to admit that. So instead he just took a deep breath before pushing open the door with a slight tinkle of the bell.

David was positioned behind the counter and he raised a single eyebrow as he saw Race walk in. The smug expression annoyed Race, mostly because despite years of trying he was unable to make it. “Soo…” David drawled, and Race felt himself frown.

“You got something to say Mouth?” Race jutted his chin out and crossed his arms as he positioned himself in front of the counter.

“Now slow down Racer.” The variation on his nickname was something that David had picked up from Jack and Spot. Whether he realized it or not, by calling him that Race relaxed. He sighed and waved his hand at David to continue with whatever he wanted to say. “I just want to warn you that you’re on Sarah’s shit list.”

“Shit list? Look, I’m not saying my family is in the mob or anything but isn’t it normally a hit list?”

Davey laughed at that, slouching to lean his elbows on the countertop. “Not with Sarah. She picked up this _charming_ habit from some of her ag friends in grad school. You piss her off enough she’ll stink bomb you with all-natural fertilizer.” Seeing Race’s incredulous look David smirked. “Manure. She’ll stick manure in your apartment’s heating system.”

“Where the hell is she getting manure from in the middle of Manhattan?” Race couldn’t help but laugh.

“I told you, ag friends. She knows way too many people with way too much poop from various animals,” Davey shook his head as he straightened up.

“Is this you warning me to inspect my vents when I get home or you saying that I’m on strike one and that’s strike three?”

“This is me saying that you should be grateful you’re getting what you’re getting,” David said seriously before turning to call into the back room. “Sarah! Racetrack Higgins is here!”

“Good,” the girl said as she came out from the back, a slightly manic glint in her eye. Suddenly Race wished his apartment was being stink bombed because the look on Sarah’s face terrified him. Her smile was all sharp angles and her eyes twinkled with more mischief than Jack’s on April Fools Day.

“Uh, hey Sarah. I’m just here to pick up my usual,” Race gulped. She was already making her way to the cooler and pulling something out of it.

“Oh no, I made something special for you to take home to Sean today. Or should I say Spot? Since you neglected to tell me that all your friends use nicknames,” her words came out just a tad too fast to be natural and the innocent pitch of her voice was just shy of menacing at this point. David had moved to stand out of the way and he had shoved his fist in front of his mouth to keep from laughing. Race shot him a glare.

“Look, I’m sorry for meddling in your love lives but can’t we all agree it worked out for the best?” Race tried to turn up his usual charm. Dialing it up to the same level he used when trying to schmooze grant money for one of his patients. Normally he could get the kid’s prosthetic nearly fully funded with this voice and smile. Unfortunately, it had no effect on the Jacobs.

“This,” Sarah held up the already wrapped bouquet, “is karma, Higgins. You never buy Spot roses because you’re afraid he’ll see them as too romantic or cheesy or something. Don’t you dare deny it,” she pointed a finger at him when he scoffed before continuing. “Anyway, you’ve been buying the guy flowers for almost five years now. It’s time. You either take the dozen roses or you leave empty handed.”

Race gaped at her. Sarah wasn’t exactly wrong, he’d thought about getting Spot roses a couple times over the years. The first Broadway opening night, their last anniversary, even just a single one on valentine’s day. Every time though he ordered something else, afraid of what Spot might think he was saying with the flowers. Now though Sarah had given him no other choice, take the roses or for the first time in – yep, nearly five – years or come home on a Friday empty handed.

“You convinced me to woman up and ask out Katherine. Now I’m convincing you to woman up and show your boyfriend exactly how much you love him,” Sarah’s voice was stern, but her face had softened and she was giving him an encouraging smile.

“You want me to ‘woman up’?” Race asked incredulously. Davey snorted from where he had retreated to leaning against the side of the cooler.

“I do,” Sarah grinned and held out the bouquet.

With a sigh Race took it, fishing for his wallet. “It’s on the house Race,” David said, coming to stand by his sister.

“You can’t just _give_ away a dozen roses,” he argued to the siblings. They both just shook their heads.

“Nope, forced romantic gestures are free for friends,” David insisted.

“Now go get ‘em tiger!” Sarah told him, leaning forward and starting to frog march Race out the door. He tried protesting but Davey was just waving at them. He finally gave in and let Sarah shove him out the door.

Once he got to his car Race dug the pack of twizzlers out of the glove box and stuck one in his mouth, gnawing on the end as he pulled out of his parking space to head towards Brooklyn. He’d finished half the pack by the time he was on the other side of the bridge. He was swallowing the last one as he searched for the key to his and Spot’s apartment.

Pushing the door open he saw Spot on the couch, frowning at the plans spread out across the same coffee table they had played that fateful game of spin the bottle on all those years ago. He could hear the mindless jabbering of Below Deck playing on tv, the one non-competition reality show that they let themselves watch.

Race kicked the door closed and hung his keys on the little hook they had by the door. “Hey,” Race called out as he dumped his wallet onto the table and slipped off his shoes.

Spot looked up at him and smiled, leaning back into the couch. “You’re home later than usual. Did Sarah and Dave give you shit for Sunday?”

Race laughed at Spot’s phrasing. “According to Davey we should be glad that Sarah didn’t actually give us shit.” Spot raised a curious eyebrow at that. “I’ll explain later. Here, these are for you.”

Spot pushed up off the couch and grabbed the bundle from Race’s outstretched hand. He immediately headed towards the kitchen with it where the flowers would be recut and preservative poured into a vase as it was filled with water before the new flowers would be placed on their breakfast bar and last week’s would be rotated to the bedroom. The two of them had this system down pat.

Spot paused as he peeled the paper open. He glanced at Race over his shoulder, a small crease forming between his brows. “Are these?” Spot asked as he trailed off.

Race rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to smile and knowing that he was standing there grimacing and blushing at his boyfriend like a complete dork. “Roses? Uh, yeah. I mean, it’s ‘bout time I bought ya them.”

Spot left the flowers on the counter, crossing the small kitchen to Race in two strides and pulling Race into a deep kiss. They both parted grinning. “You taste like twizzlers,” Spot informed him with a low chuckle.

“Yeah well, I was nervous. You know that I keep them in the car,” Race pouted. That just prompted Spot to pull him into another kiss.

The next Wednesday when Race called Petal Peddlers during his lunch break to place his usual order Race smiled as he told them he’d like a half dozen red roses for pick up on Friday.


End file.
